


The Wrong Stop

by jiminthetardis



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Doctor Who, F/M, Team Crackship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-29
Updated: 2013-06-29
Packaged: 2017-12-16 13:56:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,114
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/862780
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jiminthetardis/pseuds/jiminthetardis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rory Williams gets off at the wrong stop and wonders why he doesn't spend much time in London.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Wrong Stop

Rory Williams is seventeen, and he's fallen asleep on the train. He never means to fall asleep, and yet, it happens every time. The gentle motion of the vehicle as it carries him along is just enough to make him nod off. This isn't the first time that Rory's gotten off at the wrong stop, and it won't be the last, either—it is, however, one of the most significant events in Rory's life.

As the train squeals to a halt, Rory jerks awake and wipes the drool from his chin. His face is stiff from being smashed against the window, and he suspects he has lines on his face. He stumbles off the train in a stupor. His eyes are still foggy with sleep, so it's difficult for him to read the signs around the station. He assumes he's in the right place and can't understand why his aunt and uncle aren't there yet. They promised they'd be there to pick him up, but they're nowhere to be found.

There's a little café just outside the station. He sits down at the only table with an umbrella and watches the people passing by. He taps his fingers against the surface of the table. He taps his foot on the floor. He waits.

An hour passes, and Rory's still sitting all alone. He's about to get up and call his relatives when a stranger taps him on the shoulder. He jumps to his feet and finds himself face-to-face with a blonde girl, who is smiling at him as though he's her long-lost best friend.

"Sorry to bother you, mate," the young woman says. She looks to be close to Rory's age, but it's hard to tell how old she is because she's wearing baggy clothes that camouflage her figure. Rory realizes he's been checking her out and glances up at her.

"Can I help you?"

"I'm Rose," she said. "I'm in a bit of trouble. This bloke's been chasing me all over the station and I need you to pretend to be my boyfriend." She looks up at him through her long eyelashes and smiles with the tip of her tongue poking out between her teeth. "Nothing funny, I promise. I just want to shake him off, yeah?"

Rory nods slowly, not sure if he does actually comprehend her. He hasn't seen many blondes and this one is impeccable. Her accent suggests that she's not from around here. "Hold on," he says, "where I am, then?"

Rose blinks at him. "London, last time I checked. Are you lost?"

"I guess so." Rory scratches the back of his neck and flashes a nervous grin. "I'll get sorted later. For now, you need a boyfriend." The words are out of his mouth before he can retrieve them, and blood blossoms in his cheeks. "I mean, you don't need one. I'm sure a lovely girl like you—"

She cuts him off with an insistent kiss. Rory is too shocked by the contact to register either the sound of heavy breathing behind them or the acrid reek of vinegar. His mind is still spinning when Rose breaks the kiss. He doesn't know how his heart is still beating.

The man who stands before them looks nothing like Rory imagines. He is average height with a slightly athletic build, close-shaved hair, and dark skin. His nostrils are flared, but as he looks from Rose to Rory, it's pain—not anger—that flashes across his sweaty face.

Rose weaves her fingers through Rory's and purses her lips. "Mickey," she says, "you have got to stop following me. I told you, I'm not interested. As you can see, I'm spoken for." She beams up at Rory to emphasize her point, but he suddenly feels uneasy.

Later that day, Rose buys him a drink and tells him that the next train won't come along until the next morning. He's not sure how to feel about being with an older woman, let alone a woman who so obviously used him. He only realizes he's scowling down at his scotch when she tightens a hand around his bicep and her chin settles against his shoulder.

"What's got you feeling so low?"

Rory relaxes his face and attempts a smile. He suspects it's unsuccessful, but he perseveres. "Today," he says, "at the train station…" He searches for the right words. The bar is too dark, too noisy, to allow for conversation.

"What about it?" she asks.

"Do you, um, do that often?" He doesn't mean for the words to sound as bitter as they do, but there they are, out in the open, and it's too late to take them back. Rory nurses his drink and stares down at the bar. His face is on fire. "What I mean to say is—"

"No," Rose says. "I've never done that before. In fact, I'm not sure that I ever will again, either." She takes a sip of wine and runs her tongue over her lips. He remembers the taste of her mouth and he's blushing even more. He can't speak. His tongue is made of concrete.

Rose slides her hand over his shoulder. Her fingers tease the hair at the nape of his neck. "I owe you one, I really do, and I don't even know your name."

"It's Rory," he says. He doesn't breathe. He doesn't want this moment to collapse into the string of perfect memories that are so scarce nowadays. He wants it to last.

"Rory." Her lips brush the side of his face as she says it, and he realizes she's going to kiss him again. "It's very nice to meet you, Rory."

And then she's leaning over him with her hand on his knee and he can smell her perfume and taste the wine on her mouth and everything else in the bar fades away. He tangles his fingers in her hair and deepens the kiss, not stopping for a moment, not pausing to breathe—not asking himself What the hell am I doing snogging a girl that I only just met?—not taking any chances.

Rose pulls away from the kiss, but she's staring at his mouth. "My mum's out," she says, "and she's gone for the whole weekend. Have you found a place to spend the night?"

As he lies in bed hours later with Rose's sleepy breath tickling his chest, Rory Williams wonders why he never visits London and makes a mental note to return as soon as possible. He offers up a prayer to the train gods for letting him off at precisely the right stop. It isn't every day that the fates are on his side.


End file.
